To Serve
by April29Roses
Summary: This story is a thematic grouping of one shots on what it means to be a servant. Arthur and Merlin are imprisoned in an abandoned cell built during the Purge. Awaiting rescue, conversation and fate conspire to reveal Merlin's secret!
1. Five Days

This little nugget of angst is dedicated to my friend Sahba, because she loves a happy ending ... and Happy (belated) New Year to all my fellow Merlin fans and writers!

"Merlin, please," whispered Arthur.

The dark haired boy lay silently in the huge expanse of Arthur's own bed. He was breathing shallowly but steadily. Arthur cursed the familiarity of this scene and pleaded with the powers that governed fate, to let his friend return to him once more.

After the battle with Morgana, in the overwhelming chaos of the celebration, Merlin had gotten separated from him. Looking around, once he reached the throne room, he had realized his friend's absence. Gwen and Leon had grown alarmed as well, just as Gawaine had burst in, his eyes hollow. Then had come the words that had frozen his heart.

"It's Merlin. Come quickly." Through the crowded corridors he had found his way, twisting and turning from the puzzled faces and cries of alarm that followed him as he ran. With victory in his hand, he had felt it all crumble into ash, as he fought his way through the celebratory crowd. It had been so surreal, that even now, in his memory, it had the sinister quality of a vision from hell.

He remembered the darkened room, the crowded boxes and barrels looming in the corners. Gaius had been holding Merlin, frantic and despairing, and the warlock, drained and panting, barely conscious, clearly at the end of his strength, was speaking an incantation. He recognized it from the sweeping feel of his heart, even as grief told him there would be no happy end to what was happening. The spell was binding him, taking him away, consuming the last of his strength.

And then Merlin had looked at him; he had looked straight into his heart as only Merlin could. With immediate terrifying understanding, Arthur knew what his friend was trying to do. Time had run out. Paralyzed with fear, still hoping for a miracle. he had watched as Merlin faded at the end of the spell.

And then, incredibly, his friend had fought his eyes open for a few precious seconds as he heard the king call his name. The look of complete joy on his face at that moment, as he recognized Arthur, and then slowly slipped away into utter stillness would haunt his nightmares forever. Gaius' anguished cry had echoed in the blackness that had leaped up and seized Arthur's heart. He felt as if he was dying as well. The pain had gutted him.

He tried to turn his mind from what had happened next. All that mattered was that Merlin had lived. He could hardly bear to remember and perhaps it was better that way.

Gaius had assured him that Merlin was recovering, his strength growing bit by bit as he slept after his shocking healing. Arthur was relieved and in his mind, he knew Merlin was recovering. He also had eyes to see. His friend had not moved for five days. The king had sat with him for hours, telling stories and silly jokes and anything else he could think of, just as he had when Merlin was first injured. But now, his servant no longer responded. Merlin was still just barely breathing, hardly able to swallow sips of water, as the old physician tended to him. Both Gaius and Alice assured him that Merlin was recovering, and that he only needed more rest and care. He would awaken when his life force, when his magic, was strong enough to support him. The idea made his head spin. Merlin needed his magic, in the same way that Arthur needed his blood to keep coursing through his veins and arteries and his heart. It made intuitive sense, even if he really didn't understand.

He had crept from his bedroom, from Guinevere's side, to keep watch over Merlin yet again. So Merlin would not feel so alone, he told himself. But to be completely honest, he was the one who felt alone. Merlin was watched over constantly by his friends. There had been no stopping the procession of knights and fellow servants, who sat with him, comforting him, encouraging him, praying he would come back to them soon.

The people of Camelot had felt the same. Arthur had been shocked when he saw the people gathering at the setting of the sun, candles flaring in the settling darkness as the people kept vigil along with Arthur. The sight had broken his heart. The trauma of Merlin's injury after Morgana's initial attack and the following battle had underlined Arthur's kinship with his loyal friend. His servant.

Unashamed of his fear, of the terrible reality of losing Merlin, he reached down to touch his hand. But he stopped himself. The last time he had touched his friend, he had saved his life, but the cost had been torturous. Closing his eyes, he could still feel the shuddering gasps of Merlin's agony as he held him tight. Magic. He still wasn't sure of what had happened. But he could not risk touching him again. He looked so frail. Arthur shoved his hands through his hair, rubbing his face as he collapsed ungracefully beside the bed. Merlin didn't move.

"He's better when you're here," said a soft, direct voice. He whirled to see Alice smiling from the dark recesses of the room. He had been consumed by his thoughts and had not seen her. He must have looked stunned because she came around the bed and put her arm around the king. He stiffened,but Alice did not move and suddenly, Arthur's fears crashed in on him. He felt tears sting his eyes as he took Alice's hand in his.

"He just looks, so.. so.." the king couldn't bring himself to go on. She regarded him keenly.

"He breathes deeper when you are near. Watch." She pushed Arthur away from the bed, taking his place by Merlin's side. Arthur saw no change, but he kept silent. Alice had saved the warlock once before. His faith was not lightly given, so he waited.

"Move forward now and watch his chest." She stepped back, exchanging her place with Arthur again. She was right! Merlin's chest was moving more strongly. He looked up at Alice in shock, a smile flooding his face with hope.

But in the storeroom Alice. My smallest touch caused him agony. What is happening? I can't believe that I...

"You don't have magic!" She said it lightly, almost laughing, but with such authority that Arthur felt his anxiety recede a bit.

"I don't?"

"Didn't you believe me the first time, Sire?" Her voice was kind though her words were direct. "You and Merlin are linked by a shared destiny. His magic is strong, so strong my dear King, that we must be prepared for some wonders. I can see the evidence of his change in your presence, but I cannot explain why it happens." She wandered away to the window as she continued speaking, glancing back at the King from time to time. "But as it stands, a healer must admit the efficacy of a treatment when the results are undeniable. I have been watching for days. At first the difference was so minute, that it was barely observable. Then I began to see changes in his heart rate when you were with him. He grows stronger when you are present, Sire. I am reluctant to raise everyone's hopes in these uncharted waters, but the evidence is clear. " She paused. "I could not bring myself to say anything to Gaius... " Her voice trailed off.

Arthur was silent, his mind racing as he turned once more to the bed where Merlin still lay silently. He could not even begin to speak. The silence was long between them, but Arthur felt only the steady warmth of her comforting presence.

"I don't know what to do."

"Until I arrived in Camelot a few days ago, the only relief from the pain of Morgana's enchantment was your presence Arthur. Your voice, your touch. Nothing has really changed."

Nothing had really changed.

With those words, Arthur's understanding was complete. His eyes blazed and the healer bowed slightly as she smiled gently. The door closed quietly behind her.

Arthur could hardly bear it. Five days had been an eternity. Merlin had been silent and unmoving for five days. There was no hint of the humor, the keen wit and quick intelligence of his gaze. No mocking respect to distract him from the task at hand. He missed his servant's voice. There had been no obnoxious morning greetings, no complicated excuses, no long stories without a point.

Merlin's hand lay half curled, palm up on the blanket. The king recalled how that very hand had stopped a fireball, summoned a dragon in a battle of enchantments, and sworn allegiance to him. The index finger was stained with ink. It had sunk into the cuticle and the edges of his nail, and Arthur realized this same hand washed his socks and wrote his speeches, and cut holes in his belt behind his back, when he gained a pound or two. It was the hand of a farm boy, rough with work, his palms as calloused as any warrior. This hand sharpened his sword, readied him for battle, mucked his stables and handed him his shirt every morning and told him to get going. It was the hand of his dearest friend, his servant.

In so many ways, he did not understand why Merlin served him. The most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, Merlin, his friend, worked tirelessly as if he was a ordinary servant. Maybe it was for the sake of Camelot, for their friendship. No, it was deeper than that, reasoned Arthur. They served the same master, their dream of a better world, a more just kingdom. Merlin had accomplished more in the shadows, than any sorcerer could have in the brutal light of Camelot. This was the dream he had heard sweeping him along in Merlin's final spell. He might never know what the words meant, but he really did not need to know. He had felt them. Camelot.

With a surety Arthur had seldom felt, he knew he could not bear the burden of that destiny alone. The Camelot of their imaginings could not exist, would never exist unless both he and Merlin brought it into reality.

Arthur hoped that Merlin would forgive him. He wondered if he would be able to forgive himself. Fearing the worst, steeling himself for a jerk of pain, he slipped his hand into Merlin's, placing his other hand on top. Arthur's heart sank immediately, for Merlin's reaction was far worse than he could ever had imagined, far worse than anything he had dreaded. Nothing happened.

Merlin's hand was bonelessly limp and it frightened Arthur more than he could say. This was somehow different. Even when Merlin had been trapped in the enchantment, as Arthur had urged him to hang on, he had not felt so lifeless, so impossibly lost to him. It unsettled him so badly, his sight wavered. He couldn't even judge if Merlin was gaining color or breathing better, or if he remained the same. He held on tighter. He wouldn't lose faith now. Moments stretched into minutes.

"Merlin, please," pleaded Arthur. He called again.

"Merlin!"

His dark eyelashes fluttered. After a long breathless moment, his servant fought his eyes open as he heard the king call his name. He looked stunned at first, his eyes unfocused until he caught sight of his friend. The look of complete joy on his face at that moment, as he recognized Arthur, as he awoke to a new world, would fill the king's heart with hope forever.

His servant, his friend, had returned.


	2. A Simple Kindness

Merlin fingered the smooth fabrics of Arthur's clothes as he slid a pile of his freshly laundered and folded shirts into the clothes press. He had never seen such fabrics before he came to Camelot, but he knew them now. They were as familiar to him as his master's mysterious and unpredictable moods.

He loved the feel of silk, cool and heavy against his fingers. The lustrous color, so rich and deep, delighted his senses. The fabric was a living thing, he could feel the life in it still. Linen was cool and rough to his questing touch. The smooth strong fibers of cotton were substantial and lasting. He had heard that the fibers for cotton grew best faraway under the hot sun, and that silk was made by worms. He wasn't sure if he really believed the last part.

He loved the feel of the fine wools of Camelot. From the heaviest cloaks to the finest of Arthur's shirts, he felt the pace of the seasons in it's familiar texture, the strength of the animals that had borne the fibers that made the thread.

Many of the shirts had been made by Guinevere. There was no disguising her even small stitches and her attention to detail. The edges of the seams were finished carefully, with no raw edges showing. Her work was as perfect on the inside as it was on the outside. It was fit for a prince. He wondered with a familiar surge of annoyance if Arthur even noticed the quality of his garments, if he ever noticed the human touch in them. He sighed.

Arthur took no pleasure in such things. Merlin smiled as he thought that Arthur would jeer at him for a girl if he should ever hear such wandering thoughts. Just then, the prince in questions sauntered into the room.

He dropped his cape as he passed the chair, unbuckling his sword belt slowly and set the blade on the table and then walked over to the window, where he gazed moodily out at the courtyard. It was clear he didn't even register that Merlin was in the room.

The evening sky was grey, the clouds heavy with rain, mixing into fog as it drifted into the lower lying streets and fields as night fell. The darkening scene seemed to fit the Prince's mood. Abruptly, Arthur unfolded himself from his determined brooding and crossed to his desk, where he sat down and began to scribble out some lines. Merlin watched, silently, amused. He had only scribbled two or three lines, when he scratched out one of his words and then picked up the paper and re-read what he had written.

He gave a snort of disgust and crumpled the paper up in his hand, throwing it to the floor.

"Arthur," he called softly.

The prince turned, looking a bit miffed and pleased at the same time,but Arthur looked down at his desk again, pulling out another piece of parchment, without saying a word. The servant crossed the room to lean casually against the other side of the desk. He uncovered a cold plate of sliced meats and cheeses that he had brought up earlier along with the laundry, and set it by his friend. Arthur eyed the food hungrily.

"Can I help you ,Arthur?"

"Not unless you can write me a speech by tomorrow morning. Given you can't read or write, there's nothing you can do! "

Arthur dipped his quill in the inkwell and stabbed at the paper with determined staccato strokes,which blotted immediately and stained his fingers.

"Who says I can't read?"

"Merlin" said the prince with a sardonic, almost amused expression. "Are you trying to tell me that you can actually read?"

"Well, yes..."

The prince scribbled a few words on the parchment and handed them to his servant.

"I am not a skinny clotpole, Arthur," the dark haired boy retorted, grabbing at the pen before the prince could stop him. He quickly wrote another sentence, handing it back to Arthur with a smirk worthy of Morgana herself.

After Arthur mouthed the words, 'supercilious prat,' his mouth was left hanging open. "You can write," he said at last. Arthur's curiosity was genuine now, he was looking up at his servant with a pleased expression.

"How did you learn?"

"My mum," said Merlin simply, with a smile. "She taught me mostly in the winter when it was too cold to do much, and I liked learning it. Gaius thought he would have to teach me too, when I first got here."

"But most peasants..."

"I'm in a class by myself," drawled Merlin with a mocking bow, distracting Arthur from his comment. "What do you have to write?"

"A speech for the weavers guild."

"Trying to convince the weavers that Uther's idea about an additional tariff on their goods at the Market this Spring is a good idea, huh?"

Arthur looked noticeably stunned at this point. His eyes were flabbergasted.

"Really, Arthur? Do you think I pay no attention at all during those trade meetings you force me to attend with you. If I didn't understand the issues by now, I'd have to be an idiot!"

"Damned by your own words" laughed Arthur ,recovering his composure and as he returned to his scribbling on the parchment., between nibbling at the cheese and meat. He paused.

"My father gave me leave to try it my way this Spring," he said suddenly. Merlin's eyes widened. Arthur had proposed the tariff be waived during the Spring and Fall market to encourage trade routes moving through Camelot rather than through Mercia, as they left the ports at Nemeth. Once trade agreements were well established, the weavers guild could offer an agreed upon percentage of the overall profits to improving and enlarging the road, given that was the original purpose of the tariff.

"My father laughed at that idea, as you will recall." Merlin did indeed remember Uther's cursory attention and laughing disregard for Arthur's ideas. Send the tax collector around and have done with it.

"So what happened?"

"Well, really it was Morgana. She convinced him it would make an amusing wager between she and I. She put money on the weaver's not coming through on their end of the deal, and I will have to pay my father the lost profit in taxes."

Merlin swallowed down his annoyance at the way Uther and Morgana were playing with the lives of the citizens of Camelot, but he had to admit the possibility that Morgana's wager was an attempt to show Uther that other ideas,besides his own, might work. Morgan was nothing, if not devious.

"So now you have to explain this idea to the weavers guild and get them to agree to use part of their profits for the road improvements, instead of paying the tax after the Market?" Merlin smiled. "So, in the end the road quality depends on them and how much they are willing to give up to keep that road in good condition for the caravans. And Camelot's contribution?"

"The continued security of my knights on patrol and the weaver's guild gets to decide on the level of road improvement."

"That's a radical idea Arthur and you know it. But it might just work!"

"Yeah," said Arthur as he lifted a wine cup that at on the table, only to find it empty. "It's to their benefit, isn't it? It all works in the end, if we all think about Camelot." He held the deficient vessel out to Merlin, and then looked down at his parchment again. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in consternation. He went back to writing and Merlin went down to the kitchen for more wine. Only Arthur would commit himself to try harnessing greed as a force for good!

When he returned, the prince was snoring deeply in his bed, his boots strewn to opposite sides of the room and his clothing discarded in heaps around the bed. He set the wine by the bedside table and prodded Arthur until he was comfortably resting under a blanket. He had written a surprising amount in the short time Merlin had had been gone.

Merlin read it over. It hit all of Arthur's major points but the last few sentences wandered a bit, and the last word trailed off in a truly gigantic blot of ink.

He sat down and began to change a word here and there, replacing a phrase once in a while. He wrote another copy out and set it on top of Arthur's scribbled attempt. He looked over at the sleeping prince.

He smiled to himself, thinking of his mother as she taught him to read and write, how she had smiled at his first scrawled efforts. She remembered her pride as he read simple sentences she had written out for him as practice. He remembered the long hours they had spent in front of the hearth on harsh winter nights, wrapped in blankets and practicing their reading. He had loved his mother's laugh when she read his stories. And he remembered who had taught his mother to read and write, though he did not know her name.

His mother had always told him she had served a very kind lady in Camelot. According to Hunith, she had been as beautiful as any princess and just as generous as could be imagined. Teaching Hunith to read might have been only a simple kindness from the lady who had been his mother's mistress, but it had been a great gift. A gift she had passed to Merlin. His mother always told him that every kindness should be paid forward.

He blew out the candle and checked once more on the sleeping prat, before he left. The secret warlock looked down at the new copy of the speech and smiled .

Arthur awoke with the unfinished speech on his mind and the sinking feeling he didn't have much time to finish the blasted thing up. Cursing his decision to go to sleep when the speech wasn't written, he rolled out of his bed and went to the desk.

There was a new copy of his speech. Even by firelight, the handwriting was clear and firm, the letter rounded and consistent in size, unlike his blotted scrawl. He realized this must be Merlin's writing. Skimming quickly, he realized there had been changes to what he had written. Good changes. It said exactly what he wanted it to say, but more clearly. It was persuasive,pragmatic and easy to understand. It made him sound like a King. He could not have been more surprised. His mind boggled. Merlin could read and write, and write speeches!

At that moment, Merlin breezed in the door with his breakfast on a tray. He pulled back the curtain and the clear light flooded his chamber. He glanced up at the servant who was setting out his clothing for the day. He began to smile in spite of himself. Best not to let Merlin know he actually liked the speech. The servant would be unbearably smug if he thought Arthur had actually been impressed.

He lifted the parchment and waved it in Merlin's direction.

"You wrote this?"

"Just trying to help out," came the soft reply.

"Merlin," Arthur paused. he folded the leaf of parchment carefully and placed it carefully beneath the grey leather gloves that Merlin had set out for his later use.

The prince approached the servant with a serious face, his eyes narrowed.

"If you ever," he paused, threateningly, "If you ever, tell anyone about this speech Merlin, I will pull out your fingernails one by one, with heated tongs, put you in a cage and poke you with sticks, just to hear you scream. Do you understand?"

The dark haired servant nodded, but his eyes were shining. "You're welcome." He answered simply.

Arthur clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder, his eyes ironic, but still laughing. Arthur attacked the food Merlin had brought and the morning proceeded without any more comment on his servant's newly discovered ability. As the prince readied himself for his weaver's guild meeting, he tucked Merlin's speech carefully into his belt.

But before he left, he sauntered over to the opposite side of the desk and popped open a secret drawer, that Merlin had never seen, from which he pulled another sheaf of parchment, much scribbled upon and with many words marked out. Another speech?

"Polish it up, would you Merlin?"

The servant felt laughter bubbling up, tingling along with his magic and his mirth, but he kept his amusement to himself for once. When it came to Arthur, it was always about the polishing, wasn't it?


	3. Dark Promise

It had to be a mace, thought Arthur. Why did it have to be a mace?

His heart quailed more than he would ever admit to his manservant, as he looked down at the wound. Merlin was too busy trying not to cry out to notice the expression on Arthur's face but he did notice the awkward pause. The unspoken question in Merlin's eyes was answered by his momentary silence. The king covered the best he could, but he cursed himself for giving more away than he wanted about the seriousness of the injury. Merlin understood; no amount of light hearted joking could put that aside.

From the moment he had scooped Merlin from the forest floor, half dazed but still able to move, his servant had coped bravely, he had to admit. But each gasp, each inhaled breath that bit back a cry, as he half carried his friend through the forest, had struck Arthur ever deeper. Merlin was bleeding heavily; the hasty bandage Arthur had shoved into place was soaked.

When the King could see Merlin could go no further, he had found a place among the trees to rest. After letting his servant breathe a bit and bravely making a few more jokes about polishing his armor, good as new in the morning and all that, Arthur had taken a look at the wound and given it all away.

The conversation got away from him so quickly, he was still breathless when Merlin asked if he would call him a hero. He answered, half-shocked, still reeling from trying to wrap his head around a thought that paralyzed his heart. But then he had looked into Merlin's eyes, into his aching, pain-filled eyes, and the truth had come tumbling out. The words were strange and wonderful on his tongue and suddenly he could not bear to let his friend see how deeply that heartfelt interchange had moved him. He didn't know what to say next and in that short, confused moment of quiet, Merlin faded from consciousness. He was so pale that Arthur's fear deepened.

The royal took another breath and set out to do what needed to be done. Merlin groaned as he touched the bandage and and jerked reflexively in pain. Moving quickly, Arthur cleaned the wound as best he could and examined it again. His servant's collarbone was clearly broken, maybe the underlying ribs were broken as well. By the fading light he could see the crude gash of the weapon had left deeper punctures in the gruesome injury. The blood was still oozing quickly in some areas while other parts were clotted and dark. He noted with relief that there was no pulsing flow of blood. Holding pressure on a wound like this would have killed Merlin from the pain alone. He shuddered.

Why did it have to be a mace? Arthur was an expert with it, one of his favored weapon. He'd attacked Merlin with one the second time he met him. Now all he could bear to do was to look away. He was acting like a girl, he told himself. Though his servant could not see him, he schooled his face into a a neutral expression.

He reached out and supported Merlin's head and shoulders, trying to ease him to more comfortable position, while moving him as little as possible. The boy gasped in sudden pain and so did he, in sympathetic surprise.

Arthur took a calming breath as he felt Merlin shiver convulsively, either with cold or shock. Both were bad. Merlin needed Gaius, he needed him now and Arthur turned his mind quickly from the fruitless avenue of that chilling thought. He realized he had lost his cape and he couldn't offer even that meager warmth to his servant.

"Wake up, clotpole," he said as carelessly as he could. The tone was so familiar it roused his friend. Merlin opened his eyes and winced as he moved a bit . He smiled faintly as he looked up and the king felt his anxiety recede. He handed the waterskin to Merlin, but it slipped from his fingers, almost immediately. Arthur caught it so smoothly Merlin hardly noticed what had happened. He helped him take a few swallows until Merlin backed off, panting a little.

Only a short while ago, Merlin had been able to talk and joke; he had been able to move. Now he needed help to drink water. Arthur fought down his panic. He had seen worse. Hadn't he said so himself? But it hadn't been Merlin whose bones and flesh were splintered and ... stop.

Arthur caught his breath once more, cursing his own surging anxiety as he looked down at the dark haired boy. Silence reigned as the night deepened around them. His servant had collapsed into a sort of half-tranced torpor brought on by his pain. Though Arthur had experienced it himself, he found vastly it more horrifying to watch. He wondered at Merlin's courage as the night went on. Arthur found he could not move bear to move from his servant's side.

Hadn't Merlin sat with him during countless fevers and injuries? Hadn't he sat outside the throneroom as he mourned his father, Uther, so that Arthur would feel less alone? Now, in this physical extremity, it tortured Arthur that he could not offer even the smallest physical comfort in return for his servant's mad, heedless loyalty.

Merlin never left his side and he had been unarmed, without armor, as he always was. He cursed his own foolishness, remembering the dismissive words that Merlin had used to diffuse their last talk on this very subject. Never listen to an idiot.

Merlin had never failed him, at least not when it really mattered, he told himself with a furious, sad smile. But he had failed Merlin. Right now, this second, he had failed him completely. Arthur had not protected him, hadn't kept him out of danger, barely got him away to safety and now he was injured badly and bleeding, out here in the forest, no fire because they were being chased, no blanket. The truth was ugly. He had failed Merlin.

The shadows moved slowly through the long night. The slanting silver light of the moon had made complex changing patterns as the hours passed. Drawn by the smell of blood, small hunters had paused in the forest. Arthur did not dismiss the almost silent whuff of their breath. More than once his hand hand half drawn his sword in readiness. But they had passed on, one by one.

Once in the night, Merlin had cried out, a hopeless incoherent moan, a sound so tortured Arthur prayed he would never hear it again. He could not bring himself to speak; his heart was too full. But he reached out and gently massaged Merlin's uninjured arm, comforting him as best he could until his halting breaths evened out. He had not moved for a long time afterwards. Silence was the yoke that united their suffering.

He promised himself something. If he and Merlin got out of this alive, if he ended up with his servant by his side and the world right again, he would put the memory of this night in the deepest, darkest part of his memories and never speak of it again. He never wanted to feel the desperate helplessness of seeing Merlin suffer. Of knowing that Merlin did so willingly, if only to save him. He wanted to forget his own uselessness and the soft convulsive breath of Merlin's pain. He did not care about an explanation, nor did he expect a miracle. He simply promised. If everything turned out all right in the end, he would never remember this night, nor anything about this nightmare darkness within himself, ever again, not as long as he lived. By all that was sacred in this life and the next, he would never fail Merlin again. Never.

He steeled himself to hear Merlin's cry of pain as he swung his servant up and over his shoulder, ignoring his agonized plea to be left behind.

Arthur would keep his promise.


	4. Hot in Here

Hot in here!

What?...Shut up, Merlin!

It's suffocating.

Did you really have to wake me up, just to state the obvious?

No, it was mostly to annoy you.

Evidently.

You'd think it wouldn't be hot... in some place that's so ... dark. It's oppressive ... Aren't you going to tell me something? Like how, if I just don't mind it ... it won't bother me so much."

So if you already know what I'm going to say...what am I going to say next?

Stop complaining?

Exactly!

Still hot in here.

You are such a girl sometimes.

If Gwen ... was trapped in here with you, you wouldn't call her a girl.

She IS a girl.

Well, you ... wouldn't say it to her face.

Really, maybe I should get concerned. You're making less sense than usual.

There's a reason...for that.

General idiocy, I suppose. You know, I think I remember something about this cell.

You're kidding? You know...each cell in Camelot?

Don't be daft. Look at the shape of the walls. I think my father may have built this prison.

How can you ... tell?

I remember him talking about the design. A room shaped like the letter 'T" with the door above the end of the hallway. The walls and floors were to be rounded like a tunnel, the mortar itself spelled and enchanted as it was laid.

Enchanted to do what?

I don't know. I was still a boy then and I didn't always pay attention. Capture sorcerers, I guess.

You don't say. So you think... it's ok... for Uther to use magic ... against sorcerers?

Like fighting fire with fire.

Sounds... like your father.

Guess my servant doesn't approve of the king again. Good thing we're alone or I'd have to make an example of you.

What will you do?... Lock me up?

A prince can lock up who he pleases. Don't pretend I won't do it.

Says the man... sitting in a prison cell... his father... built for sorcerers.

Very funny. Might as well try and get some rest. Move over, will you. I think it's a little cleaner over there. Go on now, Merlin, I said move over!

What?... Yeah.

You're soaked?

Stop!

Merlin... Don't do that! Let me see... What's wrong? Good gods,you're burning up. Look at me.

I... I... am. Looking at you, I mean.

What's wrong? How long have you been like this?

I'm not sick, Arthur! It's just... so hot in here.

Yeah, it's hot in here. But you have a fever... a bad one. Leave it to you to get sick the minute they stick us in a prison cell.

I was sure... it would annoy you, so... you know, ... I couldn't resist.

Shut up!

I can cough like... like a dying maiden if ... if you want. Wanna hear?

I've told you before, humor doesn't suit you Merlin. How long do you think we've been here.

Maybe... half a day.

At least, maybe more. I'm sure they'll be back soon.

They weren't really... bandits, were they?

Nah, probably mercenaries. They haven't harmed us. Probably hoping for a ransom of some kind.

But Gawaine got away. Leon too...I'm sure.

Yeah. They'll be looking for us.

They'll find us ... soon, I hope. They... can bring help ... from Camelot. ... Is it getting hotter?

You know, it really is hot in here.

You can ...sweat off a few pounds.

What!

Great opportunity!

I'm not fat!

That's right... must be the heat ... my head...

Just a bit longer, ok.

Arthur... I can't , it's getting worse! I ... I.. can't think

That's dangerous for you anyway. Give it a rest, ok.

My head, it feels.. like I... I...

Stop trying to get out of tomorrow's chores...Stop it. You just kicked ... What's wrong? Are you ok? ... Merlin? ...Damn it to hell! Where's Gaius when you need him! Oh shit!... It's ok. You're going to be ok!... What should I do?It's not stopping...Please ...please stop...Shit! It's ok., Merlin. You're gonna be ok. That's better... Shhhh...Merlin?

Arthur.

Shhh. Just rest. You had some kind of fit.

Yeah.

That was scary.

You.. should'a been... on... this side. ...

You're still shaking.

...so hot.

I know. I know. It's your fever, Merlin, but it is really hot in here. I can barely stand it.

Arthur.

Shhhh. I know that voice.

Please, Arthur

Don't start. It's better if you rest, ok.

Just.. listen.

I'm telling you to be quiet.

Dont... don't say anything...I'm... so sorry.

Stop it.

Please... please...whatever happens, don't...

I said, shut up!.

Gaius... can tell you... Try to ... understand...ok

Will you never do as you're told?

I 'm happy... to serve you.

Just stop this, Merlin! Stop it or I'll kill you myself. This is crazy. You're not gonna die. C'mon, we'll figure this out. We always do, ok?

Arthur...

Look at you. Just, look at you...It's like...like... something in here is killing you a bit at a time. no... No, it's not possible!... Merlin, it's the room, isn't it? My father's special cell... It's the room!

I'm ... sorry

How?! Oh damn... I can't believe this ... You're a...You're a... I can't believe...

Forgive...

Just shut up! ... This is madness...Merlin?Merlin! ... Not again! Don't you dare! Not now, you idiot! Not again! Stay with me... Look at me, you clotpole ...Merlin, stop that! This is so much worse... Please make it stop! Can you breathe? ...Merlin! Merlin! No, no, no... look he's breathing. Yeah, he's still breathing. Ok. Merlin... Wake up! Wake up, you... you miserable two-faced excuse of manservant!...Yeah! There you are. Ok. Ok. Look...Look at me... C'mon ... That's right...Keep talking. Keep talking to me. If I kill you now, I'll never get my questions answered. Keep talking!

Wha...?

Keep talking.

Thirsty...

Just keep talking.. I don't care what you say. Just keep talking.

Where's... Arthur?

You never stop talking. And now when I have a thousand questions, you clam up and can't say a word.

Arthur...

You know, I should kill you! I should kill you for lying to me!

Can't...help him... cant find him...

You're a sorcerer! You have magic!

I...can't get out ...Where's... Arthur?

Merlin?

Gotta..get.. back up...I have to...

What are you saying?

Something... bad... Arthur... lemme go... he's in ...danger

Stop it Merlin.

Got to.. get up... keep going...

Stop thrashing like that.

Lemme go! ... where's...Arthur!

You're out of your head, Merlin. It's me, Arthur. I'm right here.

Arthur...I...I...can't make it... where's... Arthur...he'll die... he'll die

You think you're saving me., like some crazy guardian angel... guardian angel ... oh no... I can't believe... Merlin , you've been protecting me. It's been you...this whole time. It's been you. You've been protecting me. With your magic. Oh shit... This isn't possible.

He doesn't...know... Please...Arthur

Only you would be so crazy... you never leave my side.

So hot... my head...it's all...inside... just...lemme go

Oh...oh my gods in heaven... I'm... I'm beginning to understand. Just listen to me ... Listen, Merlin. You insane, loyal fool! ...

never... told him...I can't...

Gawaine will be here soon. He got away and he should be back. He's the best tracker we have, next to me of course. He'll find us.

never know...never

Think of all the chores piling up for you in Camelot. Washing, polishing, the stables won't have been touched , so you'll have to get that done right away... Can't have the horses standing around in their own filth. Don't you can get out of it with one of your little tricks! Gaius... Gaius probably has some herbs for you to pick.

Gaius?

Maybe he'll send George out looking for yarrow, instead of you.

Gaius ...Tell...Arthur...forgive me

Don't, just don't... talk like that.

Keep him... safe...

Please, no!...

Ar...thur

Damn my father and his cells ... This is worse than torture, Merlin! I can't even give you any water... You're dying by inches right in front of me. It's done something to your magic ... look at what it's doing to you ... my father left them in here for days... I'm gonna have this hell hole destroyed. And someday, I swear, Merlin...

So hot... lemme go...just...lemme go

Listen,Merlin, I'm not going to let you go. Not ever. When we get out of here, I won't say anything to my father. Not a word. I promise. I never break a promise and you know that's true. Hang on, ok? I forgive you ... you just hang on, till they find us. Can you hear me,Merlin?

So... damn hot...

Hotter than you know, Merlin. It's hotter than you know.

FIN

This story is a tribute to my roots in fandom. Years ago, I went to my first syfy convention and found stacks and stacks of mimeographed stories,(YES, it was that long ago- a good 20 years before computers!) awaiting my discovery. Fan-fiction! One of the first I read among them was an all dialogue story about Captain Kirk and Spock trapped in a cell. I have preserved the first and last lines of the story for this Merlin tribute! I no longer have a copy of the story; I can't recall the author, nor have I ever found it on the internet. But it opened my world to something wonderful and all that I can say is ...Thank you!

PS. This story was agony to write! No descriptions! Aughhhhh!


End file.
